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Full text of "To The Lighthouse"

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its confusion of savoury brown and yellow meats,
and its bay leaves and its wine, and thought.
This will celebrate the occasion—& curious sense
rising in her, at once freakish and tender, of
celebrating a festival, as if two emotions were
called up in her, one profound—for what could be
more serious than the love of man for woman,
what more commanding, more impressive, bearing
in its bosom the seeds of death; at the same time
these lovers, these people entering into illusion
glittering eyed, must be danced round with
mockery, decorated with garlands.

" It is a triumph/' said Mr. Bankes, laying his
knife down for a moment. He had eaten atten-
tively. It was rich; it was tender. It was per-
fectly cooked. How did she manage these things
in the depths of the country? he asked her. She
was a wonderful woman. All his love, all his
reverence had returned; and she knew it.

" It is a French recipe of my grandmother's,"
said Mrs. Ramsay, speaking with a ring of great
pleasure in her voice. Of course it was French.
What passes for cookery in England is an
abomination (they agreed). It is putting cabbages
in water. It is roasting meat till it is like leather.
It is cutting off the delicious skins of vegetables,
" In which/' said Mr. Bankes, " all the virtue of
the vegetable is contained/' And the waste, said